3 Ficlets, The Day is Gone
by Treesh Aradia
Summary: Everything goes, even your fascination with me.


Title: The Day Is Gone, 3 Ficlets

Author: Treesh Aradia  
Rating: PT  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
Spoilers: S2, midway  
Summary: Everything goes, even your fascination with me.   
Pairing: Angst Leyton, character pieces.

**Ficlet 1: Untitled (OTH, Lucas, Peyton)**

She is the last person he ever thought would come by. The last person he expected and the last he wanted. He hasn't been very fair to her, what with his volatile, varying emotions toward her and her best friend Brooke. Brooke, he now realises he loves her. Passionately so. Peyton was just a... prelude to the real thing.

Or so he shouts to himself, especially loudly when he opens the door and finds her there. Still in her green frock. It's amazing he has lost the ability to tell when she is hurt. He use to be able to. Now he can't even tell when she's been crying, and she has mascara tracks the lenght of the nile.

"Hey."

She greets back, voice a little rougher than usual. "Hey," she looks uncertainly up at him, "can I come in?"

He wordlessly lets her in, door pushed further back, and the girl quietly enters the dark abode.

He waits for her to speak. And he uncomfortably notes her doing the same.

Lucas is confused. Why did she come, if not to tell him something?

She sighs after the muted silence drags to awkward pregnant pause. She expects the same Lucas, the one that was in love with her, or the one that at least, used to care for her, used to be her friend.

"God, forget it. You really have changed."

And with that, she leaves him, door, still ajar.

He doesn't get her, and yet, he has to remind himself, it's only because he loves Brooke.

**Ficlet 2: Untitled (OTH, Peyton)**

Peyton's life has never been hers. It belongs to tragedies. Her mother's death; her betrayal of Brooke, Lucas' leaving her. They ruled her thoughts, her days, and were her inspiration to all her melancholic drawings.

Peyton's life has never been lively. True, they were filled with the comings and goings of people, but only people with selfish intentions. People who needed her. They hit the road or are a hundred miles to somewhere whenever her shit hits the fan.

Lately, Peyton is just alone. Alone, again. Naturally.

She sits on her bed, not doodling. The satirical drawings have long since lost her fascination. She does not _fucking_ care if people liked her 'comic strips'. She just wants an adventure. Maybe a road trip. Not the type of adventure that leaves powder beneath her nostrils. Just good clean, fun. With possibilities. Maybe even of meeting people.

Different people who were kind and did not ditch. People she could for once call friends.

**Ficlet**** 3: Blackened Corner (OTH, Peyton)**

She's never been the type to sit around and draw. Not until she sat in the car that killed her mother. And then draw was all she could do. It was silent and she did not have to answer them back, usually with banal phrases like: yes, I am fine. Because she was fine, as fine as a girl without a mother can be. You would think, by now she would be immune to being alone... her dad, off to parts unknown, and the house so silent. It was a double-edged sword, that cut her frequently. It was silent even when she sometimes begged for it to make a sound.

Any really. In her more out of lucid moments, she wished the house would take the tone of her mother and speak to her.

Cut to years later, and she's still on her bed, or desk, now on the floor, sketching. She's cut the connection to her cam, and she allows her mascara to streak down her face, like angry black tears of a sad clown. She's drawing pretty pictures, of red lights, and pom poms. And the girl standing at the corner, the blackened one from her lead pencil. That's her, right there with the pom poms and cheerleading uniform. But as everyone is circling the red light and kissing under it, she's off center, towards the right, in her blackened corner. In her mind's eyes, everyone's forgotten about her.

She snorts, it's on every other mind aparts from hers.

Taking the pom poms from from her bed, she throws it out the window


End file.
